


thanatos

by greatcatsbys



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Major Illness, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/pseuds/greatcatsbys
Summary: When Rufus' lesions weep black pus and his cells cave in upon themselves, Tseng learns very quickly that self-discipline cannot control an unruly body.(a series of prompts for turkstober 2020)
Relationships: Elena/Rufus Shinra/Tseng, Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII), Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 32
Kudos: 85
Collections: Turkstober 2020





	1. 3. smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be a series of drabbles done for [turkstober 2020](https://twitter.com/duskynebula/status/1310401004807106562?s=19)! i've also been inspired by a lot of the whumptober stuff going around at the minute too, so they'll be varying in intensity - some may include graphic depictions of violence and general moral dubiousness. will content warn for each chapter accordingly!
> 
> 3\. smoke  
> content warnings for degenerative illness

It's late night at Healen, windows dark and sky quiet, the chirp of cicadas the only noise for miles around. Even after the best part of a year out here, the silence still sets Reno's teeth on edge; living here only reminds of how much he's always going to be a city kid, a born and bred child of the underplate. Quiet makes him fidget, and it doesn't bode well for anyone if Reno's hands are bored. 

He slumps down on the sofa, feet up on the arms as he lights up, flicks the steel lighter in his hands to a satisfying _click._ He _click_ s it back and forth in his hand, and finally, there's some fuckin' _noise,_ noise that isn't those son-of-a-bitch bugs -

‘Put that thing out.’

Tseng stands behind him, appearing silently the way he does, hovering behind the two of them like an overgrown bat. Reno scowls at Rude, flashes Tseng a flirtatious smile.

‘Can’t, boss,’ Reno says. ‘It's my sure-fire flirtation device. How else’m I supposed to pick up chicks?’

‘Knowing you, Reno, I’m sure you’ll find a way,’ Tseng says, the fatigue in his voice less humorous than genuinely worrying. Tseng walks to Reno in three long strides, a face like thunder. ‘Out. Now.’

Reno stares Tseng down, for a moment briefly, _briefly_ considers blowing smoke into Tseng’s face. It’s a compelling mental image, but Reno knows that with Tseng on edge the way he is lately, that way a dislocated shoulder lies. 

‘Fuckin’ sucks,’ Reno mutters, as he drops the cigarette on concrete floors, grinds it beneath his boot. ‘What is this shit? You on a health kick or somethin’?’

Tseng shakes his head, smiles a cat-like smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

‘Thank you for co-operating,’ Tseng says, turns on his heel back through the doors.

Reno waits until Tseng’s footsteps are barely audible down the hall, checks his surroundings and fishes in his pockets for another, muffles the click of his lighter with the palm of his hand.

‘Don’t even _think_ about it,’ comes Tseng’s voice from down the hall. Reno feels a shiver run down him, even to the tips of his hair.

Shiva's fuckin' _tits_ , the boss is scary.

\--

Rude surveys the world from behind his glasses, breathes heavily enough to mist the lenses. His body is fatigued from the run, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. The hill back up to the Lodge feels less like a homecoming more and more each day, the smell of decay lingering more prominently in the walls. Throwing himself into training is a way to leave Healen without inventing an excuse that rings false.

He enters through the glass doors, takes fierce gulps of air before going inside, before the artificial smell of cleanliness hits him.

Tseng is inside, bent over the flooring, hands white-knuckled as he scrubs at a pool of dark fluid. Rude flinches at the image. He hadn't known it was quite this bad.

'Sir,' Rude says quietly, bends down to assist. 'Is the President -'

'He'll live,' Tseng says tersely, does not look up from the floor. Rude notices the tension in Tseng's shoulders, how his knees are wet, and silently walks to the kitchen, brings a bowl of disinfectant and a cloth over to the stain.

The two of them work in silence, the brush of cloth harsh against stone flooring the only interruption. It's rare for Rude to pry with Tseng, knows they are similar in their silence, but something in the ferocity of Tseng's movements has him concerned.

'Sir,' Rude says delicately, does not look up, 'about the President's condition - you do know we can help, don't you?'

Tseng does not respond, carries on working.

'We want him safe,' Rude continues. 'And you have us, if you need us. With respect, sir, Reno's said you've been on edge, and we've been worried -'

Tseng kneels back, slams his cloth into the bowl with an unexpected violence. He sits back for a moment, his mouth a taut straight line, eyes scouring Rude’s sunglasses for any trace of judgement.

'Perhaps you and Reno talk too much,' Tseng says sharply, before taking a slow breath, concedes Rude may have a point. ‘The air out in Healen is still too close to the reactors for my liking. I can’t imagine it’s conducive to his condition. Neither, I imagine, is living with the permanent stench of cigarette smoke.’

Tseng’s eyes are distant, choosing a fixed point on the wall to focus on instead of Rude’s round face. 

‘I see, sir,’ Rude says, nods slowly. ‘We didn’t think.’

‘You might think me overly cautious,’ Tseng says, rubs at a smudge of black on his shirt-sleeve. ‘Perhaps you may be right.’

Rude shakes his head, folds his hands.

‘I don’t think it’s overly cautious. With Geostigma, there’s too many unknown variables,’ Rude says, gestures at the flooring. ‘Besides, a Turk prepares for any eventuality.’

‘Yes, they do,’ Tseng says, smiles quietly at the ground. 'They have to.'

Tseng’s brown eyes, usually so reserved, brim with a mourning so deep it makes Rude catch his breath. 

The emotion doesn’t suit him. 

\--

Elena rolls the green orb of materia round her hands, between her fingers. The dizziness that comes with overusing it feels similar to her first drag, warm-headedness and an overwhelming feeling of an itch briefly scratched. It doesn’t quite have the same impact, doesn’t make her feel relaxed down to her bones in the same way a smoke does, but then she only has to look at Tseng, so withdrawn, so testy, to remember why she tries.

It’s why all of them try – even Reno, who is more fidgety and foulmouthed than usual. He steals Rude’s glasses when the headaches come, falls asleep curled up on the sofa like a disgruntled cat, and Rude strokes his hair, as an unspoken _thank you._ They could easily sneak their ways around it, but they don't, because even though Tseng no longer has the authority to give orders, it is _still_ an order from Tseng. That means something.

Elena is often the last to bed, is best at Rufus' bandages, has a fluency with them and a practiced stoicism when looking at the horror underneath. He's been weaker lately, his body more sinewy, more cold. Before Elena crosses the hall to go to sleep, she puts her ear to the door of Rufus' room, listens out for morphine snores.

'Sir -' 

Elena opens the door, sees Tseng's dark hair splayed across white bedsheets, the smell of bleach strong in her nostrils. He holds Rufus in his arms, face braced against the covers, but Elena does not need to see his face to know he is sobbing.

Elena retreats quietly, closes the door with imperceptible sound. She feels a strong desire to purge herself of the image, feels her face flush at seeing something so intimate.

She sighs. Right about now, she could murder a fucking cigarette.

\--

Tseng is not a man who believes in fate.

So far as he’s lived, destiny is not preordained; it is earned by grasping events and shaping them to your will, exercising control and self-discipline until your fists ache and your nails are broken. He has never believed in a God, not the elementals of Wutai nor the deities of Midgar, statuesque and shadowy in their majesty. 

But then, illness strikes. Illness, with all its unpredictability and messiness and blood. When Rufus' lesions weep black pus and his cells cave in upon themselves, Tseng learns very quickly that self-discipline cannot control an unruly body. 

Confronted by the reality of it all, Tseng realises why people turn to a power greater than themselves.

Instead, Tseng focuses on the things he can control. The environment at Healen is spotless, Tseng meticulous in his routines of disinfection. He speaks with medical professionals across the globe, sanitises anything to enter the Lodge, envelops Rufus in an atmosphere of overwhelming sterility. In theory, it all helps. In practice, ink-black vomit only looks darker on white floors.

When Tseng sees them smoking in the sterile environment he has created, it snaps something inside him. _Put it out_ , he says, bullet sharp. It's not Reno he's angry at, hardly the cause or symptom. He's angry at the situation, that creating a containment zone around Rufus is the only way to keep him safe, one of the many rituals Tseng tries to help Rufus heal.

Tseng is not a man who believes in fate. However, his mind plays games with the idea. At night on the terrace, in the quiet hum of his car, as he looks over Midgar's heaving rubble at sunset, he thinks _if anybody is listening, please tell me what it is I have to do_. Tseng has always expected to sacrifice himself for Rufus, the unspoken price of the contract between them. If a life for a life is what is needed, Tseng would gladly be it.

 _A fair trade_ , thinks Tseng. _A fair trade for the chance that Rufus might live._

_\--_

One morning, Tseng notices the ashtray is gone. 

He imagines that is care for Rufus, in its own way.


	2. 15. lipstick

'Take the shot.'

Elena puts her eye to the sight, braces herself for the recoil. She has him there, a clean shot through the neck, and she exhales, breathes through the shot, feels it in her shoulder as it hits. Blood spurts from his artery as he falls from her line of sight, and she steps back, sees him in the distance, red and squirming.

She sighs, checks her surroundings briefly before opening her PHS, returns to the call with Tseng. Her sleeves smell of gunpowder, ashy and warm. 

'Target eliminated,' Elena says into the receiver. 'Code _Fairweather_.'

'An excellent shot,' Tseng says down the phone, voice crackled. 'Report back to us downstairs at once.'

Elena ends the call, stows her rifle away and makes her way down the stairs, free hand tight around her pistol. They've been after him for months, one of Corneo's men with a little too much ambition, and now, on her first outing as a member of the executive, she's taken him down.

_Executive_. The word fits nicely in her mouth. Her sister was never an executive Turk, a truth that makes Elena far happier than she would care to admit. She hardly has much time to consider this before she hears gunshots, and Elena ducks, hears footsteps from down the alley. She pursues silently, lies in wait for her assailant to turn the corner, and -

_There._

Elena takes a step forward, out from the dark, and kicks the man's feet out from below him, plants her body weight on top of him, knocking him to the ground. The man struggles below her, clawing at her face, writhing madly - but Elena is quick, efficient; places the pistol in his shrieking mouth and shoots.

His body stills below her, and she breathes deeply, catches her breath. From behind her, she hears footsteps, light against the cobbles, and she smiles, recognises them as Tseng.

'This part of the test?' Elena says, laughing, as she stands up slowly, brushes her blood-spattered knees. 

'Not at all,' Tseng says sharply, glancing around the alley, does not lower his weapon. 'He must be with D'Agostino, though, how on Gaia did he slip past -'

'Sir,' Elena says, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. 'It's fine. Consider the threat neutralised.'

Elena reaches down, frisks the body for any sign of identification. Tseng hovers behind her, slowly lowers his weapon and joins her.

‘Are you alright, Elena?’

Tseng looks at her with an unexpected tenderness, with a sincerity that makes her feel like a child. _How little you know me_ , she thinks.

‘Fine,’ Elena says, means it. ‘Nothing you don’t see at the Academy.’

Tseng hesitates, places a hand in the small of her back as she threatens to leave.

‘You don’t –‘ Tseng starts, looks almost flustered, which Elena smiles at. This _is_ a development. ‘You don’t have to hide your feelings. It's your first assignment - if you’re affected by it you can take the day, or we can call off this eve-‘

Elena laughs, does not mean it to come out as coldly as it does. 

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Elena says curtly. ‘The task was to eliminate the target. I did so, with precision, and now I’m ready to report to headquarters.’

Tseng looks at her, tight-lipped. She reminds him of himself, once upon a time.

‘And besides, sir,’ Elena says, makes a show of adjusting her stained collar, ‘I'm hardly going to miss the executive's rite of passage.’

Tseng looks at Elena up and down, eyes dark.

‘Very well,’ Tseng says, nods. ‘We’ll return, then. And I’ll see if we can’t find you a change of clothes.’

Elena watches as he walks ahead of her once more, her chest brimming with the sudden change in the air. Tseng, worried about somebody. Worried about _her_. On anybody else, it’d be insulting.

He has no idea who she is. 

\--

Unsurprisingly, none of the Turks standard issue spares fit her. She often forgets that she is one of two women in the entirety of the division, but practicalities like this force her to remember. 

Instead, she gets into the lift, a foot shorter than everybody else, blood on her cuffs and chest. Even tightly buttoning her jacket up to the top doesn’t quite mask it, and Elena sighs, slowly accepting that being stared at is one of her new duties. She folds her arms, taps her foot impatiently in the way that Reno does, wishes right now she had a pair of Rude’s glasses. 

The violence, she can handle. The being stared at in a tight enclosed space, not so much. 

When the lift chimes for the sixty-ninth floor, Elena leaves quickly, does not turn to look at the middle-managers gawping as she leaves. She has far more pressing matters to attend to, and she sighs, takes a right to the ladies’ bathroom before following the hall down to the Presidential suite. She walks into the bathroom, combat boots loud against the tile, and waits, waits as a group of gossiping interns take one look at Elena and scram. Definitely preferable to the lift scenario, she thinks, and makes her way over to the mirrors, undisturbed.

Elena is aware of the cognitive dissonance involved in trying to make herself look neater when she is covered in blood and smells of gunpowder. For her first night as an executive, she is at least willing to try. She reaches for her wallet, pulls two hair slides out of the coin pocket, and tries her best to style her hair, reaches for a lipstick misshapen and melted by living in her jacket. 

She aims for the vicinity of feminine, but with the cranberry-colour on her lips matching the stains in her shirt, she feels more as if she’s wearing a costume for All Hallows. Elena sighs, knows a lost cause when she sees one, and leaves the bathroom, walks down the hall with determined footsteps before knocking twice on the door of the President’s office.

The door swings open almost silently, Tseng waiting for her. When he sees her, he grimaces.

‘No spares?’

‘None,’ Elena says emphatically, enters the room before she is invited. ‘I did my best.’

‘You have a certain feral quality to you,’ Tseng says quietly, and Elena almost snorts at how misshapen the praise sounds in his mouth. ‘I think he’ll like you nonetheless.’

_I don’t care if he does_. _But he will,_ Elena thinks, and does not say. Instead, a figure draped in white appears at the top of the stairs, and Tseng gestures to Elena to follow him. Tseng and Elena walk in tandem towards their new President, Rufus Shinra, and Elena nods her head awkwardly, unsure of what to do with her hands.

His face is marble, all sharp edges and shiny eyes. Elena looks at him for a little too long, sizing up his dimensions the way she does all people who are rich and dangerous. 

‘So,’ Rufus says, finally, voice plummy and echoing. ‘You’re the new Turk.’

‘The new executive,’ Elena says, smiling politely. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’

_Sir_ , she thinks with a scowl. She resents calling anybody _sir_ , except perhaps Tseng.

‘I’m told you eliminated quite the shark today,’ Rufus says, edges closer to Elena, almost imperceptible to someone not trained to notice every deliberate movement. ‘Excellent work. Your first kill?’

Elena tries her best not to smirk.

‘No, sir,’ she says. ‘I used to live in Wall Market.’

Rufus raises an eyebrow, appears to take that as a satisfactory answer.

‘You can’t possibly think I would assign somebody so inexperienced to a task like _this,_ ’ Tseng says, the corner of his lips curling upwards. ‘Some credit please, Rufus.’

_Rufus._ Elena raises an eyebrow, her interest already piqued.

‘A task like this,’ Rufus echoes quietly, smiling to himself. ‘Tell me, Elena - has Tseng briefed you properly on the nature of this evening?’

Elena looks to Tseng for permission, and he _smiles_.

‘Of course, sir,' Elena says, loosens her tie. 'I’m here to claim my reward.’

\--

The sheen of sweat on Elena's body makes dry blood flake against her skin, makes her flesh itch. Rufus' nails scratch grooves against her spine, though, which somewhat sates the sensation.

Behind her, Tseng has his fingers inside Rufus, pushes them in and out in a tortuously slow rhythm that has Rufus gasping for breath. From here, Elena can see the President worn out, begging to be fucked, the remains of her lipstick smeared around his mouth. She smiles as Rufus pulls her in, hands possessive against her breasts, whining desperately to be touched.

Elena strokes his hair back, before raising her leg over Rufus' face, lowering her cunt to his desperate mouth. She hears Rufus moan below her, feels his hands press sharply into her bruised thighs, and Elena gasps, bites her lip as she feels his tongue flick against her clit. The President is as good as Tseng said he would be, and Elena pins his hands down by his sides, fucks herself against his mouth at her own, punishing pace. She watches as Tseng pushes his cock slowly into Rufus, and whimpers as Rufus positively whines around her clit.

Shiva, he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Next time - if Elena can wrangle a next time, which with her charm she wagers she _can_ \- she wants Tseng inside her. Still, Rufus is persuasive with his tongue, talented enough to make Elena catch her breath, and the way Rufus mewls around her makes her think he won't last. Tseng nods to her again, and she releases one of Rufus' hands, allows him to touch himself.

Elena feels a warmth trickle down her spine, her stomach tense as she watches Tseng pull Rufus' legs over his shoulders, hears Tseng moan in a way that feels almost voyeuristic. Elena's stomach tenses and her thighs quake as a flick of Rufus' tongue makes her come violently, almost doubling over on top of him before she pulls herself off him, lies down and catches her breath. 

Rufus only lasts a minute or so after Elena moves off him, crying out, begging Tseng to fuck him harder. She watches with glazed eyes as Rufus comes hard against his stomach, as Tseng follows suit with a harsh cry that goes straight to her cunt. Tseng exhales slowly, ties his hair back with a practised ease, and sits on the foot of the bed next to Elena, smiles at her stiffly.

'Welcome to the team,' Rufus says, strokes Elena's hair behind her ear. Tseng kisses her forehead delicately, and Elena stiffens, resists the urge to pull him close.

'Thanks for the initiation,' Elena says, wipes her stained mouth. She rolls over, stands up and stretches out, the dried blood on her skin slowly becoming more and more unbearable.

'Stay,' Rufus says demandingly, pats space in the bed next to him and Tseng. 'There's something oddly comforting about sleeping with people who kill for you.'

Elena turns to look at them, looks at Rufus' flushed face and Tseng's hair dark against the pillow. They look warm and inviting, and despite Elena's understanding that this is strictly business, part of her wants more.

'Fine,' Elena says, shrugging. 'But first I want a smoke, and a shower.'

'In that order?' Tseng asks, looking her up and down, staring pointedly at her naked, blood-stained body.

'In that order,' Elena says sharply, picks up her jacket and heads to the balcony, leaves the sliding doors wide open.

Tseng laughs, shaking his head.

'Doesn't she remind you of someone?' he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Important Edit: if you, like me, wondered what elena looks like blood-stained and smoking in nothing but her jacket, you need only look at [bullet's absolutely gorgeous drawing of her!!!](https://twitter.com/bulletbutnot/status/1317584802640519170?s=19)
> 
> naming this thanatos in the freudian sense, in that they're all either a) horny, b) about death, or c) both! the brand
> 
> this is a very small oneshot but i have a much longer tsengulena fic in the works, if it ever finds its way out of my google docs!


	3. 19. 'i keep kissing strangers and pretending they are you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for blood, murder, general violence

Rufus doesn’t notice the man is dead until there’s blood on his shirt.

Rufus is a nineteen-year-old with more fucked experiences than he should reasonably have; has survived his fair share of kidnappings, has planned many a failed assassination attempt on his father. This experience, however, is a new one to add to the list; kissing a man right as the light drains from his eyes, as he becomes a corpse. That’ll be something to unpack in a few years’ time. For now, Rufus steps back, numbly, hardly feels his legs.

The man’s body falls, dark hair across his face, and behind him stands Tseng, taller, darker, the body simply a facsimile of the man Rufus _really_ wants his hands on. Tseng stares at him with what looks like disapproval, but on Tseng could be a wide range of things. His expression is damnably neutral, even amid murder in cold blood.

‘You need to stop this,’ is what Tseng finally says, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his blade clean with a practiced ease. 

Rufus feigns ignorance, shrugs his shoulders, sets his jaw and hopes his hands do not shake.

‘You could have at least let me fuck him. And waited until I fell asleep,’ Rufus scowls. ‘This is twisted, even for you.’

‘I cannot help your predilection for dangerous men,’ Tseng says sharply. ‘It would, however, make my job easier if you acted on it less frequently.’

There’s a spot of blood on Tseng’s starched collar. Rufus looks at it, looks at the tendons tense below it. 

‘What about him suggests he’s dangerous?’

Tseng shifts the body over sharply with his foot, bends down to scoop back the dead man’s hair. At the nape of his neck is the tattoo of a crest, two dragons intertwined in a red circle.

‘Loyalty to Wutai,’ Tseng says slowly, as if this is all too taxing to explain to a child. ‘Which for you, I imagine, is part of the attraction.’

Rufus, despite his shaking and his metallic, sinewy smell, smirks at Tseng.

 _So close,_ he thinks.

‘Because he’s Wutaian?’

Tseng looks at Rufus up and down, his expression sharper than his blade.

‘Because he’s a dissident,’ Tseng says firmly. He places a gloved finger on the corpse’s tattoo, traces a line round its neck to an assortment of mouth-shaped bruises further down. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.’

Rufus keeps his eyes on Tseng, pouting around his fear. 

‘Is that why you killed him?’ Rufus asks. ‘Or was it because he was with me?’

Tseng smiles at him then, with his enigmatic, cat-like smile, barely perceptible to those who don’t spend hours looking for affection in his features.

‘You know we do this for your safety, Rufus,’ Tseng says. ‘Nothing more.’

Tseng reaches for his PHS from his pocket, dials a few numbers with precision and says the codeword down the phone, _Thanatos_. The word that demands discretion, one that Rufus has heard too many times, and Tseng says with a fatigue beyond his years. Rufus knows the clean-up squad will arrive soon, likely Shuriken with her red hair, with her eyes that express more excitement than disappointment. The body will be disposed of in a location that Rufus does not know, will never know, will never ask to find out.

They do this dance, the two of them; a familiar rhythm that suits them. Rufus sneaks out from Shinra Tower through a new escape route each time, to fuck men in love hotels, in slum bars, in alleyways. He is deliberately reckless with his safety, knows that the more men he fucks the more men Tseng will inevitably have to silence, the more Tseng will have to stare at him with that cocktail of disappointment that makes Rufus’ heart race. It’s a cat and mouse game they play around the slums of Midgar, slipping in and out of mako-lit side streets.

Rufus longs for the day he pushes Tseng too far, for the day where Tseng decides to cut his losses and either fucks him, or kills him. As long as Tseng’s hands are on him, he doesn’t mind which.

Tseng’s eyes are dark as he frisks the corpse for its identity, hopes to find something that will give away who the man is and where he has come from, if he has friends, friends who have seen Rufus. Rufus watches Tseng work with a detachment that surprises him; frankly, he’s more bothered about the metallic scent on his clothes, the red streaks against white tailoring.

‘You could just tell my father, you know.’

Tseng’s hands still, and he pauses, straightens up and looks at Rufus with a sincerity that scares him. Rufus clenches his fists, prepares himself for a non-committal _your father’ll kill us before he kills you_. If it were Reno, he’d laugh; if it were Shuriken, she’d simply shake her head, tell Rufus he’s a _fucking idiot_. With Tseng, it’s usually silence, that disapproving stare that would feel almost parental if it wasn’t accompanied by murder.

‘We think more of you than that, Rufus,’ Tseng says simply, and stands up, places the man’s ID in his pocket. 

Rufus swallows, his throat oddly dry, and briefly closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think there may be _care_ in all of this.

Instead, Rufus does what he does best; lashes out, goes for the jugular.

‘Then why don’t _you_ fuck me?’

Tseng is not so uncharitable as to sigh, but Rufus watches the tired thought cross his face.

‘What would be gained by that?’ Tseng asks, which makes Rufus wince; it’s a response that hurts far more than a simple _no_.

‘I wouldn’t need to go _looking_ for dangerous men to fuck if I had one of my own.’

The corner of Tseng’s mouth quirks upwards. Rufus commits it to memory immediately, feels an intense sense of victory whenever he makes Tseng react in a way he hasn’t predicted.

Tseng shakes his head, wraps his knife in the handkerchief. Rufus feels increasingly irritated, irritated at the way he pushes and pushes at Tseng, forever the immovable fucking object.

‘For a spy, you’re unobservant as fuck,’ Rufus adds, baiting him, daring him to respond.

‘How so?’ Tseng says calmly. If he weren’t holding a knife, if Rufus hadn’t seen blood spurting from his lover’s arteries, this could be a normal conversation. 

‘You can’t not recognise the _pattern_ ,’ Rufus says, his voice ragged round the edges. ‘How I kiss strangers, pretending they’re you.’

Tseng stares at Rufus, unflinching, for what feels like an age. Rufus breaks first, looks at the floor, looks at the pool of blood slowly seeping its way up the hems of Tseng’s trousers.

Tseng sighs with a finality.

‘I’m contracted to kill for you, Rufus,’ Tseng says, plainly. ‘Not to kiss you.’

Rufus feels an anger pool in his stomach, white-hot and scorching. His fists clench, and he kicks the dead body at his feet violently, rips off his blood-stained jacket and drops it to the ground. 

Tseng watches Rufus silently as he rages, as Rufus storms past him in waistcoat and shirtsleeves to the black sedan waiting for them at the end of the alley.

‘Take that to be dry cleaned, Turk,’ Rufus shouts behind him. ‘I don’t care if they ask questions.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rufus, after listening to one too many lana del rey songs: tseng.... be my jazz singer, my cult leader, give me whiskey-stained kisses in the dark.....  
> tseng, laughing nervously: what the fuck


	4. 22. stars

Rude can see the sky here, from the mountains, the way he imagines you can see the sky from the Sector 7 slums. He puts that thought to rest as soon as it appears.

They’ve been driving for miles, driving since Reno got fucked up in Costa, broke his fingers gouging a man’s eyes out until Rude decided it was time to go somewhere else. Reno isn’t talking to him about it because Reno doesn’t talk, not properly; drinks his feelings down or fucks them out. Rude can’t say he’s grand at talking either, so instead, they drive across the hinterlands, through desolate villages, to the mountains. It’s easier than thinking about all of it, easier than saying _what the fuck have we done_. 

Ethereal lights dance in the sky, a natural phenomenon that only occurs in this region. Rude has always secretly wanted to see it, is pleased he gets to see it even if it’s after the world feels like it’s gone to hell. The clearing is silent, Reno leaning back against the hood of the car, looking up at the sky. If Rude were feeling more himself, he’d tell Reno to _get off and watch the paint, asshole_ , but today, he doesn’t feel like himself at all. Instead, he joins Reno, perches on the car and lights them both a cigarette, cradles the flame with his hands.

‘Thanks man,’ Reno says, takes the cigarette with bandaged fingers and exhales into the cold. He leans back until he’s lying down, looks up at the stars and traces lines between them with his cigarette.

‘That one’s Bahamut,’ Reno says. ‘Don’t know shit about any others.’

Rude laughs, surprised.

‘Didn’t take you for a star-gazer,’ Rude says. ‘Thought you spend too much time under the plate for that.’

‘Used to date a chick who was super into astrology,’ Reno says, shrugging. ‘Shit was fuckin’ nauseating, I swear – like the moon gives a shit ‘bout us little people.’

Rude nods, hums in agreement.

‘Everyone needs their comforts,’ Rude says. ‘Guess for some people, it’s the stars.’

‘Yeah, huh,’ Reno says, scowling. ‘What’s yours?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rude says, drops ash delicately away from the car. ‘My car, empty roads, good music and bad singing.’

‘Now I know that ain’t true,’ Reno says, pointing at Rude wildly, ‘because you’re a fuckin’ _great_ singer. Remember when we went karaoke in Five –‘

‘- and you got us _kicked out_ , Reno, yeah I _remember_ –‘

‘- yeah, not that part, alright? The part where you sang _Midgar Blues_ and Tseng nearly shit himself at how good it was. Swear to Gods he woulda taken you home that night if I hadn’t fucked it for you.’

Rude pushes his sunglasses up his nose, tries his best not to look embarrassed or disgruntled. If Rude wants to take any of his colleagues home with him, which, you know, he _might_ \- it wouldn’t be Tseng at the top of the list. 

‘Hey, look at you all red!’ Reno crows. ‘Now don’t go tellin’ me you never thought about it.’

‘Can neither confirm nor deny,’ Rude says brusquely, and sits up with a briskness that makes Reno laugh even harder. Reno flicks the end of his cigarette away, reaches for another from his pocket.

‘I’m tellin ya, man,’ Reno says. ‘You ain’t never gettin’ an opportunity like that again.’

Rude sighs, the flicker of Reno’s lighter reflecting in his glasses. Reno means it as a joke, but he’s right; out here, in the wilderness, in hiding, Rude can’t envisage a time when the four of them will go out drinking as friends again.

‘No,’ Rude agrees, nods his head sagely. ‘Probably not.’

Above them, the lights dance, mako-green and sparkling.

 _The sector in which you stand has been condemned._ Rude winces, takes off his glasses for a better look, hopes he can lose himself in the view. 

Reno is wiry against the car, stretches against it like an oversized cat. His eyes are even more vivid in the moonlight, and Rude pauses just to watch him, because they’re in the middle of nowhere, because they’re on the run, simply because he _can_. 

‘You’re really gonna make me drive you round the whole continent before you’ll talk, huh?’ Rude says, smiles.

Reno looks at him, vivid-eyed and bristling.

‘I ain’t got shit to say,’ Reno says, immediately on guard. Rude shakes his head, decides to light another cigarette of his own.

‘Sure you don’t,’ Rude says, exhales deeply with a fatigue that surprises him. ‘Like you didn’t in Costa.’

Reno scowls, not one of his usual performative ones. He looks genuinely _pissed_ , and Rude turns his head away, hardly in the mood either.

‘You know it ain’t that deep,’ Reno says sharply. ‘Can’t we just – enjoy the fuckin’ view, or somethin’?’

Rude shrugs, takes another drag.

‘Whatever you want,’ he says. ‘Ain’t healthy though, keeping it all in like that.’

‘Yeah well, you wanna be a Turk, you turn into a fuckin’ husk,’ Reno snaps, sits up so forcefully he almost falls off the car. ‘No alternative.’

Rude watches him silently, does not protest. He’s close, Rude can tell. Reno’s good at figuring things out himself. Instead, Rude places a silent hand on Reno’s shoulder, an unspoken _it’s okay,_ and he watches as Reno’s body uncurls a little, the anger seeping out into Rude’s touch.

‘I’m trash, right, but I’m fuckin’ good at being trash,’ Reno says, puffs his chest assertively. ‘Made my peace with that long ago.’

‘Amen,’ Rude agrees, raises his cigarette like it’s a toast.

‘And I got burnt ends where guilt oughta be,’ Reno says, fiddles with his ponytail. ‘So why, Rude – why’m I still feeling like this?’

Rude sighs, as Reno hits the jackpot.

‘Because we killed people, Reno,’ Rude says plainly. ‘We killed people in the city you love.’

Reno lies back on the car, folds his knees up. He lies in silence, finishes his cigarette and throws it away weakly, the red light of the dashboard flickering off his goggles.

‘Well, shit,’ Reno finally says. ‘It don’t sound great when you say it like that.’

Rude smiles despite himself, watches Reno roll over and curl up as best as the metal hood will allow.

‘We coulda said no,’ Reno says feebly.

‘Yes, we could’ve,’ Rude says. ‘But then we wouldn’t be here, alive.’

‘I know,’ Reno says. ‘In another life, or somethin’.’

In all the years Rude has known Reno, he’s never seen him look quite so pitiful. His clothes hang off his slight body, and his shoulders shake like he’s in withdrawal. Rude sighs, decides to act on impulse.

‘No life but this one, partner,’ Rude says, lies down next to Reno and places an arm round his shoulders. Rude’s arm envelops Reno easily, and Reno doesn’t posture, doesn’t protest, which is how Rude knows his partner’s really fucked up.

‘Ain’t nobody hold me like this before,’ Reno says, his voice attempting humour. ‘Didn’t know you had it in you, big guy. Real _romantic_ –‘

‘Reno,’ Rude says sharply, tightens his hold. ‘Shut the fuck up and let me hold you.’

Reno stiffens at the touch, but allows Rude to lift him up a little, allows Rude to envelop him in his warmth. They sit awkwardly on the edge of the car in each other’s arms, Reno’s scratchy hair buried in Rude’s chest, bodies cast in moonlight and redlight and unbearable, simmering guilt.

After a while, Reno mutters muffled words into Rude’s chest.

‘Nobody else gets it, man,’ Reno says, and Rude lets go, looks at Reno with wide brown eyes. ‘They don’t got a fuckin’ clue.’

Rude sighs, and nods.

‘Just you and me, I guess.’

‘I want it out of me,’ Reno says, tugs at his hair, his jacket feverishly, like he’s trying to rip the skin with it. ‘Fuckin’ – anythin’ else but this feelin’ –‘

Before Rude can offer a solution, Reno’s mouth is on his, arms laced tight around Rude’s neck as Reno kisses him like he’s gasping for air, lungs full of water. His hands move feverishly across Rude’s body, against his firm arms and chest, pulling him out of his jacket, and Rude lets out a surprised, wanting moan, unsure of how to react to his dreams of Reno on top of him playing out in reality.

Reno breaks away from Rude, stares at him with wired, electric eyes.

‘Fuck, man, say somethin’,’ Reno says, with a desperation that doesn’t suit him. Rude pauses, feels his heart race in his chest, and lifts his hands to Reno’s face, holds him gently with a sincerity that makes Reno’s cheeks flush.

‘I have –‘ Rude starts, feels his voice threaten to crack. ‘I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, Reno. But – like this? I don’t –‘

‘I get it,’ Reno says, smirks, cat-like. ‘You don’t wanna fuck up the paintwork.’

Rude is so taken aback that Reno positively cackles.

‘Listen, Rude, I want it,’ Reno says quickly. ‘You ain’t takin’ advantage ‘cause I’m sad, or nothin’. I know you probably got some dreams of velvet sheets in a fancy hotel or some shit, but I’m hard, and I want you.’

Rude hesitates, is almost embarrassed at how well Reno knows him, embarrassed at how many times he’s imagined them draped in fineries, in penthouse suites overlooking the city. But here is Reno, all sex drive and death drive tied up in a perfect package, begging to fuck him, and Rude has waited a lifetime for this.

Even his patience has limits.

Rude kisses him fiercely, messily, his teeth clanking lightly against Reno’s as Reno moans into his mouth, pulls Rude’s jacket down further and works quickly at his buttons. Rude kisses Reno’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone, inhaling Reno’s ash-scented skin anywhere he can, anywhere there is flesh and warmth. Reno is inside Rude’s shirt, running possessive hands down his hard chest, smirking as he flicks one of the barbells in Rude’s nipples and hears him moan into Reno’s shoulder. Rude’s body is fever-warm despite the cold air, and Reno marks it with his mouth, positively bites Rude as Rude’s hands finally find their way into his underwear.

Reno hisses, bucking his hips into Rude’s strong hands, slips his hands down to Rude’s belt to return the favour. Reno tries to straddle him, to rub his cock against Rude’s, but he slips down the side of the car, tries again and laughs.

‘Back seat,’ Rude says, shaking his head and smiling, as he lifts Reno up with ease, carries him while Reno positively shrieks with delight at being thrown about so easily. Rude lowers Reno into the back of the car slowly, delicately, but Reno is on Rude again hurricane fast, seizes Rude’s hips hard enough to bruise as he frees Rude’s cock from his pants.

‘Oh fuck, Rude,’ Reno hisses as he fucks Rude’s cock with his unbandaged hand, feels cold metal piercings that create a friction in his palm; if it feels good for him, Shiva only knows how it feels for Rude. Reno looks up at Rude, face taut, lips pressed together to stop his moaning, and Reno smirks, pulls Rude further on top of him and kisses him, hears Rude panting into his mouth.

‘Don’t go soft on me now, partner,’ Reno says, smirks as he rubs his cock against Rude’s, fucking them both in a torturously slow rhythm. ‘I wanna hear you come.’

Rude exhales a shaky breath at the thought, moves his hand down to take both their cocks together, and fuck, Reno’s already a mess of precum, leaking warmth over the both of them that feels so, _so_ good. Reno whines into the sensation, wraps his legs round Rude’s and fucks himself against Rude’s hand, against the metal in Rude’s cock, moans fiercely at how good it feels. He won’t last, and neither will Rude, pumping their cocks together faster in time with Reno’s breathy praise - _fuck, Rude, so good, faster_ \- until Reno comes with a sharp cry, thighs quaking against Rude’s.

Rude is close too, all gritted teeth and panting breaths, and Reno breathes deeply, shakes off his orgasm-haze to seize Rude’s nipples, to lean forward and whisper _come for me._ It works just as planned, sending Rude over the edge with a guttural moan that Reno will replay in his sense-memory for years to come.

Rude rides out his orgasm, wipes himself clean and holds himself up by the doorframe, light-headed and breath ragged. Reno simply smiles, splayed out on the back seat, takes in the view of his partner, a sheen of sweat on dark skin, his eyes glazed over.

‘Well, that was weird,’ Reno says, when it becomes clear that Rude’s idea of comedown is just _staring_ at him. ‘Hot weird, not bad weird.’

Rude nods quietly, still looks mildly shellshocked. 

‘Reno,’ Rude says softly, his eyes brimming with affection. ‘I -‘

‘Don’t sweat it,’ Reno says, finally closes his legs. ‘It’s adrenaline, or somethin’.’

Rude exhales slowly as he watches Reno dress himself, with a wistfulness that surprises him. Getting emotionally fucked up over a fumble in the back of his car is soft, even for him.

‘This ain’t a replacement for actually _talking_ to me, you know,’ Rude says, half-sternly, and Reno laughs.

‘Thought I’d gotten away with it and all,’ Reno says, grins as he buttons his shirt back up. ‘Sharp-ass bitch.’

‘I hear that’s what Tseng looks for in his Turks,’ Rude says. ‘A band of sharp-ass bitches.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Reno says, shuffles out of the car with surprising grace. He pulls his jacket back on, fixes his hair and lights up again, assumes his position on the hood of the car as if nothing has happened. ‘You comin’?’

Rude stares at Reno, body lithe against the car, sees his eyes magnetic in the light.

 _He got you good_ , Rude thinks to himself, and sighs.

Rude sits next to Reno on the hood of his car, leans back and watches the stars, keeping his hands very firmly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much like the tsengrulena one this is a oneshot that's kind of emerged from a much longer, more chaotic word doc lmao, i guess let me know if you'd like me to write more of these two? i love em


	5. 26. 'with all due respect...'

Elena remembers Edge as a mass of disarray, makeshift homes in ruins, people displaced and huddling under tarpaulins. It is always slightly jarring when she arrives and it is a reasonable attempt at metropolis, tall glass-fronted buildings, highways, even a park where yellow flowers bloom. Over the course of the last seven years or so, Elena has seen it grow from its grassroots, her duties shifting from fetching supplies and medicine to more strategic planning meetings that are a constant trial by paperwork.

She’s no architect, but she prefers it to Midgar, prefers the wide-open sky and the pale sheen the light casts on everything. Reeve has breathed life into it, and even in the cold of winter, it starts to feel like home.

A few doors down from Seventh Heaven is a shabby-looking coffee shop that Elena has frequented ever since it opened. It is light indoors, with shiny counters and winding plants, and its aura of warmth and health makes it a popular, distinct place amongst the city’s grey hue. It feels strange to be doing something as mundane as going for coffee, feels strange to be meeting her boss, who she now considers a friend. The normality of it all is strange, but comforting.

A bell chimes as she enters, which makes Tseng turn, waves a hand to her from the queue. Even now, seeing him makes her chest ache a little, even if any semblance of romance has been long since buried. She smiles and joins him, gets her wallet out before Tseng can object, pays for their regular order; a black coffee for him, a cappuccino for her. 

'You're too kind,' Tseng says politely, as if they don't have this argument every time they go out, as if he hasn't heard the _you're not technically my superior_ line a hundred times. 'I dread to think how many I owe you now.'

'Far too many to count,' she says breezily, unwinds her warm scarf. 'So, is this a work stress fifth-of-the-day coffee, or is this a your attempt at relaxation coffee?'

Tseng smiles, refastens his hair.

'Neither,' he says quietly. 'It's a _for once I have news_ coffee.'

She looks at Tseng fully for what feels like the first time in years. His features are still seemingly ageless, but his hair gives him away, starting to grey at the temples. Elena wonders what he will look like with a head of silver, hair almost matching Rufus'. Despite her best efforts, she can't imagine it.

'News, eh?,' Elena says plainly, honestly; she'd be lying if she said this wasn't beginning to make her stomach curl with anxiety. 'You mean it's not for the pleasure of my company?'

Tseng smiles, despite the weak joke. That's something that Elena notices has changed, too; Tseng is more humorous, more patient.

'Well, that's a contributing factor, of course,' Tseng says, adjusts his cuffs as they wait for their coffee. 'But I do have something specific to discuss.'

Elena brushes stray hair behind her ears, bites her lip. The ends feel frayed, much like her nerves; as the coffee arrives at the counter, Elena picks them up quickly, walks to a table that she decides looks quietest.

She sits down, shrugs her jacket off, and crosses her legs, making a show of being occupied. Tseng hangs his coat up, a winter coat with proper tailoring, and Elena feels as if he is deliberately taking his time.

'With all due respect, sir,' Elena says, as Tseng returns to the table, 'would you mind telling me what this is all about?'

Tseng sips his drink, nods quietly.

'Never one to skirt the subject,' Tseng says, a smile in his eyes. 'I'll be brief, then.'

He places the shabby cup on its saucer, catches his spoon with a light click.

'As you may know, Rufus and I have been in a relationship for some time now,' Tseng says, brusquely, with a seriousness that makes Elena laugh loudly, enough to echo round the room. 

'Is there a problem?'

'Nothing!' Elena laughs, presses her lips together. 'You're just - _some time_ might be underselling it a little.'

'I see,' Tseng says, smiles almost imperceptibly. 'I'll try again. As you know, Rufus and I have been fucking since -'

' _Much_ worse,' Elena says, face horror-struck. 

'Noted,' Tseng says, continues calmly. 'As we have been in a _relationship_ for _many years_ now - if that is phrasing that suits you - I am planning to take a liberty that is rarely afforded to us Turks.'

Elena's eyes widen, as she understands.

'You're _retiring_?'

Tseng grimaces somewhat at the word, sips his drink delicately.

'I suppose that's the closest term,' Tseng concedes. 'I'm no longer a young man, and Rufus has been granted a new lease of life that was unthinkable only several years ago. I - _we_ \- plan to make the most of it.'

Elena smiles, feels her chest ache and her cheeks flush.

'Where will you go?' Elena asks quickly, more desperately than she would care to admit.

'Not far, I imagine,' Tseng says. 'Rufus still intends to work with the WRO, even if just as a financial benefactor.' He looks down at his coffee, brushes his hair aside with the grace Elena has always been mesmerised by. 'We'll stay in Edge for most of the year, travel perhaps, but I can't imagine Rufus spending his summers anywhere but Costa.'

Elena holds her cup tightly, feels an cocktail of joy and heartbreak in her stomach that makes her shiver. _Tseng_ of all people, domestic and happy and planning for a future. Turks are seldom permitted to dream of a life, and if it were happening to anyone else, she'd be unspeakably jealous. 

'I'm so happy for you,' she says, means it, hopes her eyes don't water. 'I mean, I'll miss you something terrible, of course, but - Shiva, if anyone deserves it, it's you, sir.'

Tseng smiles a rare, unguarded smile.

'Thank you, Elena.'

'Thank _you_ for telling me,' she replies, sips her coffee, stares into the cup and wills her vision not to swim. 'Do the others know?'

'Not yet,' Tseng says, folds his arms, face serious. 'I wanted to tell you first, as there's a proposition I'd like to run by you.'

Elena's eyes narrow, places her hands in her lap. 

'What is it, sir?'

Tseng leans forward slightly, stares at her intently with dark brown eyes.

'Elena,' he says proudly, 'it would be an honour if you would succeed my position as Director of the Turks.'

Elena's mouth drops open, as her brain all but short-circuits.

'What?'

'Like I said,' Tseng says, smiling, a lilt of humour to his voice, 'it would be my honour.'

Elena stares in shock, is barely aware of her body until her hands shake so much she feels coffee seeping through the legs of her trousers.

'Oh _shit_ , sorry,' she says, as she looks around frantically for napkins. Tseng hands her a handkerchief, evidently trying to keep the laugh from his features. She grabs it quickly, presses it against her thighs and breathes deep, shaky breaths.

'Sir, I - I don't know what to say,' she says, can barely look him in the eye as her eyes threaten to brim over. 'Why me? I mean, in terms of years of service, Reno -'

'Reno is committed to Rude, in the same way I am committed to Rufus,' Tseng says calmly, sips his coffee. 'It's not something either of them want. You, on the other hand, have always been committed to Edge, to redevelopment. To Shinra, in whatever capacity we have existed.'

Elena closes her eyes, can barely believe what is happening.

'What if -' Elena says weakly, 'what if I let you down, sir?'

Tseng laughs then, a warm, unexpected laugh that ricochets round the room. Elena looks at him, shocked.

'I don't mean to laugh at you,' Tseng says, shaking his head. 'There's just some poetry in the fact I remember saying a similar thing to Veld, once upon a time.'

Elena's breath stills.

'You know, once he dragged me from a sinking ship,' Tseng says, with a reminiscence in his eye that immediately makes him look older. 'He dragged me from it, almost a corpse, and I never forgot how it felt to fail him. And when we had this conversation, several years on, I asked the same thing of him - how can you trust someone as inexperienced as _me_ to walk in your footsteps?'

Tseng pauses for what Elena assumes is effect, and the suspense kills her.

'What did he say?'

'He said to me, ' _Tseng, you've been ready for years.'_ ' Tseng says, a proud smile on his features. 'As have you, Elena.'

Elena closes her eyes again, clamps her lips tightly together to keep from crying.

'Much like Veld pulled me from the wreckage, when you pulled me from the Northern Crater, despite being half dead yourself,' Tseng says, reaches a hand across the table to Elena, 'I knew then it was you.'

The dam breaks, and Elena's eyes spill over. She's cried enough times in front of Tseng that this seems hardly noteworthy, but she hides her face in embarrassment nonetheless, covers her blotchy cheeks.

Tseng smiles politely, places a hand on her shoulder. Elena looks up, smiles through floods of tears despite herself. 

'Okay then,' Elena says, shrugs casually as her nose begins to run. 'Yeah, I'll take the job. Might be alright.'

Tseng and Elena laugh, and as Elena tries to neaten herself up, rubbing her eyes on her sleeve, peeling the napkin from her lap, the two of them only end up laughing further at the state of her.

'Maybe don't take my new ID photo just now,' she says, grinning. 

'It'll be ready and waiting for you at your convenience,' Tseng says, smiling a mischievous smile, and adds, 'Ma'am.'

Elena gasps melodramatically.

'Ma'am,' she says, grinning. 'This better not awaken anything in me.'

Tseng simply raises an eyebrow, which only makes her laugh again.

They spend another hour or so chatting, Tseng making good on his offer to finally buy her a drink as he replaces the coffee she's spilled. Elena tries her best not to beam with excitement the entire time, but that requires a level of stoicism she will never, ever have.

Tseng reaches for his coat and Elena's scarf, wraps it round her shoulders as they exit the café, leaving a generous tip for the staff. They step outside into the street, and the air is colder than Elena remembers. They wait outside, quiet, unsure what to do with their hands.

'I suppose I'd better go and inform Reno and Rude,' Tseng says by way of goodbye. 'Are you coming back to Headquarters?'

Elena pauses, shakes her head.

'If you'll allow me, sir, I'd like a little time by myself.'

Tseng nods, hovers for a brief moment before he crosses the road, coat catching the breeze as he does so.

Elena watches him leave, watches him disappear down side streets as he becomes just one of the many citizens of Edge, one of the many citizens Elena is now sworn to protect. She exhales, sees her breath in the cold, and smiles up at the buildings attempting to pierce the sky, incomplete and aspiring for greatness.

These are hers, now.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed my short drabbles about death and rebirth and sex and... sexy death? 
> 
> i am always chatting shit about the turks over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/turksontour), please feel free to come and say hi!


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